Ichiriki Ochaya, a Geisha's Teahouse
by Akimi Kono
Summary: Etsuko has everything, then loses it suddenly. Moved to Kyoto, she is taken in by the Nitta household, where she meets Hatsumomo, Chiyo and Pumpkin. Does she have what it takes to become a Geisha? R&R please! First Memoirs fanfic.
1. Hanako and Etsuko

3/5/10

Japan - circa pre-1930

My name is Akiyama Etsuko. I was born in Toukyou, Nihon. A lovely place to live. Popular and filled with money, my life is wonderful. I go to private school, I have many friends and I am favorite of all the teachers. I have everything I could ever want. Yet I still feel a bit empty.

I cross over the things I have, ten pages of items in small print, and yet it seems I have nothing. Love? Is that what I long for? Surely not. It's not important. That is what my mother and father always tell me. As I dress in a soft green kimono, matching the summer season, I have my maid, Kazu, tie a dark purple and silver obi around my waist. I hold my arms out as she wraps the cloth around. She smiles at me and tells me I am beautiful. I know that I am. I am told by many people that I am. I do not need her to tell me such things.

I turn to the sides as I look at myself in the full length mirror. Staring back is an image that could be engraved in stone. I am wonderful.

I turn to her, "Tell Hanako that I will be expecting her in the Tea Room."

"Yes, Akiyamasan." She bows low, as she knows I am more wealthy than she shall ever be. She hurries off, her old grey kimono dragging along the ground. As I wait, I examine myself again. More so I find little perfections that I love. Such as how long my hair has grown. Almost below my knees, it is. I have tied it up in a high pony, wrapped around in a tight braid, small gold pendants woven throughout. In fact, I have had Kazu do it. Not myself. I would never do such a thing! Work.

I trail my fingers along my collarbone, feeling it jut out underneath my pale skin. I am spotless. I have no moles, or dots. No imperfections or blemishes. I am perfect.

My red underrobe has been pulled down a bit to reveal my shoulders. I love this about me, as I am slim and slender. I can move any which way. I can dance. I can sing. I am talented and sweet. I am the object of many men's desires. I am Etsuko.

I turn my head towards the door as it slides open. I see Kazu kneeling down, her face near the ground.

"Where is Hanako?" I begin to snap as I step off of the rise in the ground to view my kimonos. I begin to walk over to her in a hurried fashion only to see her reel back and my sister appear. She is short. Tiny. Chubby. Ugly. Nothing like me. I hate her. She is my parents' favorite. How? She is not talented like me. She can not play the shamisen. She can not sing. She can not do anything right. She stumbles over her own feet. She tears her kimono. She talks like a mouse. Annoying! Yet I have called for her. Why again? Oh, yes.

I study her purple kimono and orange obi, trailing to the ground behind her. Her bare feet poke out from the hem of her gown. She looks at the ground, knowing not to look at me. Certainly she would not dare to do so. I am her older sister. I tell her what to do.

"Yes, ane"

"Change your kimono," I order, my eyes staring deeply at her. Her head snaps up, her long black hair only to her middle back, which is tied up like a sumo wrestler's. She does not look attractive.

"But, why?" She knows not to question me.

"I have said so, so it will be done!" I shout at her. She shrugs back, scared like a small animal. Her pale face swallows with fear, her cheeks now staining red. She nods.

"Yes, ane." I know she wonders why, so I answer.

"You look fat." I state as she turns and walks off, her head hanging, "You should really lose some weight."

She does not answer, but just leaves. I stand there, my eyes following her until she disappears around the corner. I do not care if she is hurt. She needs to hear the truth from me, as from others would just cause more pain. I turn and walk back to the mirrors, staring into my reflection one last time. I call Kazu over to fix the underrobe as it has started to slip away and show more skin than I had intended. As she fixes it, she murmurs something quietly.

I do not hear it, so I demand her to repeat it. She does not do as I say. I turn and slap her. She reels back, almost falling into the wall. As she sits on her knees, holding her face and sobbing, I demand her to repeat it. She does.

"I have just acknowledged that you do not treat your sister as fairly as you should," tears roll down her cheeks, she breaths heavily. Her face is red and swollen, her eyes puffed up. She looks atrocious. "But who am I to say such things, when you have treated me with such fairness?"

Yes, that is right. She has no reason to say such things. She is traitorous.

After another minute of sobbing, I tell her to leave. And she does, her tears falling to the ground. The door slides shut noisly, though she tries to be quiet. I step back up on the pedestal and stare at myself. Poor Kazu.

She will always be ugly.

A/N: I am sorry she is so rude, but you know that'll change. All with a matter of time. Please, just give it time. I hope you like it! R&R?


	2. Mother and Nobu

3/6/10

I cross from my dressing room, which is, in fact, different than my fitting room, and into the reception room. A woman older than I is sitting there. She is sipping tea and talking money with Mother. I do not care for this, as they are normally chatting. I pass them, not caring if I am interrupting an important and secret meeting or not, as if it is they should not be in a public place, and out the second door leading into the hall.

As my kimono drags along the clean wooden floor, I realize that Kazu is gone. I only think of this as she is supposed to be following me so I do not shut the tail of my gown in the door when I leave. I am irritated. I brush quickly down the halls, screaming for her. She is no where to be found. I turn around and walk back to the reception room where our guest is gathering her things. I rush to Mother and collapse next to her on my knees.

"Mother, Kazu is gone!"

"Not now, Etsuko." She says, "We have a guest."

"She is leaving!" I protest as the woman stands and another one of our maids, Michi, helps her out towards the front door. Mother seems not to care. I always get what I want. "Mother, she is gone. Find her."

She sighs, her hair turning grey with stress. From Hanako, I assume. As she stands, her yellow and gold kimono draping to the floor, I notice how old she is getting. She is pale against her custard-colored robe and crimson sash. Her eyes droop, her skin sags. It as if she has aged overnight. I am appalled. Mother used to be so beautiful. I had wanted to be like her, just like her, in every way. From grace and manner to looks and speech. Now I am not sure. Do I want to look like her in twenty years? No! Never! I stand up and away from her as she drags her feet her across the smooth floor and slides the first door close. She beckons me over to the second one in which we leave from.

As we walk through our large house, the lights blink. We are the only house in this town to have electric lights and I know why. We have much money. More so than the fishermen that send us up their catch. But it annoys me much when the lights go out for periods of time, as that is not the show of wealth.

We step down into the small incline beside the front door and slip on our geta. Michi kneels beside the door and slides it open. I notice it is very cold outside, and has begun to snow. Snow? Here? I stare down at the woman whom quickly rushes by me and returns with a red lacquered parasol. As I step out, she follows me in her woven shoes, holding the umbrella over my head. Karin, our third maid, holds a green lacquered parasol over my Mother's head. We begin our stroll outside and along the polished stone path that leads through our garden to the front gate. As Michi holds the parasol over my head and slides open the gate, I notice that she too is getting old. She looks tired.

Unlike Kazu.

I keep my eyes ahead and step forward, Michi following. I heard Mother coming, her shoes clacking along the stones behind me. I follow her, though I dislike it, as she walks along the street. I hear vendors calling out for clean and fresh food. I hear the clanking of metal pots and pans, and the creaking of old wheels. I see rickshaws passing us quickly, their cargo that of women. We ourselves could have afforded one, but we, as Mother says, show our wealth and kindness by not burdening the drivers with our weight. And we could not bring Michi and Karin.

But does she not realize that if we do not, then the rickshaws do not get paid? Even if I hate to see the dirty and sweaty men running around our streets, I would rather have ridden than walked. We cross over the street to short buildings. They belong to shops and gown makers. I see ivory hanging in the windows of one. Fish in another. I can smell the sweet, candied aroma of fried squid as we pass a smoking cart, the items popping and sizzling. I wish we could stop, but Mother seems to know where we are going and does not plan to stop.

Finally we cease at the edge of a sidewalk, our maids soaking by now. Mother waits a while before calling out. I see nothing. Her voice carries up and away into the darkening sky. What is she doing? Soon I hear the squeaky wheels and the hefty breathing of someone. I see the outline of the rickshaw appear, coming closer. The man is no more than 15, yet he is strong like the ox in our fields. Or so I hear.

Mother steps up, Karin holding the parasol until she is safe underneath the hood of the carriage. I then step up, Michi holding the umbrella. I slip under, sitting next to my mother. I had almost stopped and made Michi wait in the rain as I stared into nothing, but I had decided that the faster we get Kazu back, the better.

The rickshaw is only for two, so another one pulls up. Our maids climb in. I hope they have money, as I am not paying for them.

Mother tells the driver where to go and he begins to trot off. I hear the sloshing of water. The driver behind us must be following us, as I assume our maids do not know where we are going. After fifteen minutes, the man stops alongside a large building. I stare out at it. It is made of brick and stone. Nothing like our houses, made of wood. I hear more sloshing and soon Michi appears. She holds out the parasol. I step out and she holds it over me. I see Mother get out even before Karin has opened the umbrella. What is coming over her? Is she forgetting her place in society?

Upset, I follow her inside, where we cross from the sidewalk directly inside. There are no gardens or gates. We step up the concrete steps and through the glass doors. I have never been here before. In fact, I have never seen it before.

As we step inside, Mother says our maids can come. But I refuse. Michi and Karin stay outside in the rain. They have umbrellas. They will be fine.

We walk along the ground, which is not wood nor tiled. It has carpet along it, short and a mixture of red, blue and yellow. It is strange. The walls are plastered and a soft cream color. It is warm inside the building. Finally, turning left and then right, we come upon a door. It is rectangular and wood. Mother steps forward and knocks on it. There are no maids to do so?

I hear a voice say something from the other side. Mother turns a knob sitting on the right side of the door and pushes it open. It does not slide open? How peculiar .. but if it is new, I am to have one. One of these non-sliding doors.

Mother steps forward and into the room, I follow her. Inside is more cream walls and carpet. There is a long table made of dark wood. There are many chairs, all of them made of plastic and fabric. No one is sitting on the ground on their knees. And everyone here are men. They all wear Western-style suits with ties and vests. They look silly to me. I realize Mother has crossed over to the end of the table and is now talking to a man. Does she know him?

I follow her in silence. I stare around the room. I can feel all of the men's eyes on me, so I turn myself around, moving my head to the side as to expose a small part of my pale shoulder. I do it as if it is an accident, though it is not. Mother has told me what men expect of women, and I intend to make it a game.

Mother finishes her talking and turns back to me.

"Etsuko, here." She points to her side so I walk over to her. She stands up straight. "This is Toshikazu Nobu."

I bow deeply, trying to gain affections. As I stand I notice that he is missing his left arm and his face is scarred. I am repulsed. What kind of man is this?

"Nice to meet you, Nobusan," I say though I only mean it half-way.

"Nobu is the President of Iwamura Electric," Mother continues, her voice soft. Why was she so kind to this man? He was not attractive. "He is kind."

"I am not kind, Akiyamasan," he replies in a tart voice, "And I do not enjoy your company. Nor the company of your daughter." His eyes narrow and turn away. He does not even look at me nor my bare shoulder. I am annoyed.

"Nobusan is also very smart," Mother says, looking at me, "And he does not know how to act around women."

"They are useless!"

"Oh, Nobusan." she sighs, "You do not realize that without women, there would be no clean clothes, nor food to eat, nor sons .. children."

"Children are annoying," he replies in a bitter tone. "As are women."

I frown. I do not want to know this man. If he does not need women, then I have no reason to know him. But I agree with him. Children are annoying, and there are no use for them. I do not plan to have children ever. I am not going to gain weight and have a stomach stick out just for the purpose of a smelly young thing that cries and eats nonstop.

Mother shakes her head of hair, "Then I will leave Nobusan ... just, please, call us if you hear anything of Kazu."

"I will do no such thing."

"Nobu -- "

"I will make sure that he does," comes another voice. I turn my head to see a handsome man looking over at us. I quietly touch my obi where I have my fan. I could instantly flip it out and cover my face as to act shy and modest. But I do not as I notice he is not looking at me. He is looking at Mother. He smiles at her. I feel jealous, but I will not show it. I act as if I do not care, looking away from him and holding my head up.

"Thank you," she says, "the Chairman is most kind." She bows. As she stands she looks at me. I sigh and bow as well. I stand, looking away from the man. I know he is not looking at me, even though everyone else is. I ignore him as we turn and leave the room. I hurry in front of my mother as we cross down the halls. I am angry that she won affections of a handsome man while I was ignored. I am never ignored.

As we step outside, Michi instantly stands and holds the umbrella above my head. I am angry that she did not have it ready before so I grab it from her, making her fall back. I storm down the steps and towards the rickshaw. I climb in without help, angrily waiting for my Mother as she climbs in next to me. I want to shove the umbrella in her lap, but I do not. I need to respect her, even if she ruined my chance for the affections of a future husband.

Staring forward, I call out for the rickshaw to take us home. He begins his trot and I sit angrily in silence. I do not want to see Mother ever again. And I do not want to see Kazu.

And especially not Nobu.

A/N: I hope you like it so far ... I added Nobu!! Ahaha. I think it was his left arm that was gone? I hope so ... Please R&R.


	3. Etsuko and Ichirou

3/8/10

Disclaimer: (this goes for all Chapters) I DO NOT OWN MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA, ITS LOGOS, ITS IDEA, ITS TEXT NOR ITS CHARACTERS. THEY ALL BELONG TO ARTHUR GOLDEN. THANK YOU.

....

I sit in complete silence as the maids come and go, letting in guests. I do not wish to see anyone, though they all pry and ask to meet me. I sit in my room, angrily staring at the walls. Mother has betrayed me, inviting the repulsive Nobu to our house for supper. How dare she? Letting him eat my rice and fish. How wicked, she is. I hate her. I hate her!

As I sit crossed legged on my futon, my kimono slipping up my legs, I let out a sigh and cross my arms over my chest. Can I ever be happy here? I have everything. Everything except for Kazu. And a husband. I shake my head and my hair comes loose, falling around my shoulders and back, settling along the silk pillows I sit on. If I am to marry someone, it will be someone young. And someone rich. They will have to be able to support me and my spending for the rest of my life, and leave enough for me when he is gone.

I stand from my bed and cross over to the closets, where one of the maids slides the door open and lets me in. The room is large. Almost as large as a room for a family in any other household. But for me, it is too small. I cross over to the honeycomb boxes lining the walls, pointing to one. The maid rushes over and takes down a large, black lacquered box and carries it out to my futon. I follow her, stepping out onto the soft bamboo planks. My room is large, larger than Mother's and Father's, and certainly larger than Hanako's. Yet I can never seem to find space for my items.

I walk over to Hari as she opens the top of the box to reveal a bright red cloth. I nod my head and she takes it out, folding it over her arms to show me. The red silk has yellow vines crawling up the sides, along with pink flowers and green buds. My summer kimono. For special occasions, that is. Hari helps me out of the robe I am now wearing and change from a yellow under robe into a gold one, slipping on my ties and belts, along with the red kimono and a silver obi. As she runs around me, holding onto the obi, I stare at myself in the mirror set up across the room. I have mirrors in this room as to make sure that I look all right before I leave.

I tilt my head to the side, watching Hari work. Finally she finished wrapping the belt around and begins to pin it in the back, adding batting and wads of cloth. Tugging at it, she pulls down the kimono's hem to make it smooth. I stare back at myself, feeling pride well up in my chest. However, I am not finished.

Hari calls in another maid, Koru, as she sits me down at a large wooden vanity. Koru is not yet thirteen, yet she is strong and well-known in our household. I do not trust her, though. She is too young to know the works of beauty. But I suppose she is the only one available for this job. As the maids begin to tug at my hair with an ivory comb, I stare at my reflection. Pale, creamy skin and eyes the shape of almonds. My eyes are a deep brown, making it seem like I have no pupil, as it appears black. I watch the two girls pull out my long hair and fold it over, brushing in oils.

Finally they pull it up into a high bun, loose strands of black hair curling around my face. I turn my head to the side, examining myself from all angles. Sticking long, carved hair pins into the base of the bun, with silver bangles sparkling down and shimmering, I was almost finished. Then they coat my face with a soft, white powder, running their fingers of my skin until it smoothes out and blends with my alabaster skin. Then they paint in my eyebrows and outline around my eyes. They fill in my lips with a dark red stain. I turn my face again to look at myself. I am gorgeous.

I look that of the Empress. I stand, my kimono draping around my pale legs, and cross the room. I glance back to see the woman on their knees, gazing at me. Though it is their artwork, I am their canvas. And even the most experienced artists can not help but gaze upon me. I turn back around and head towards the door, where I wait patiently.

Realizing this, Kozu runs over and kneels, sliding open the door. As I step out, Hari follows, nearly crawling on her knees. Kozu rushes past me and into the reception hall where there are fifteen people waiting. She announces me in her quiet voice. Just as she finishes, perhaps even before, I step into the room. I have my right hand over my chest, holding onto the edge of my golden under robe, as if to pull it up like I am innocent. I look around the room subtly, noticing who is there and who is not. All of them are young men, barely in their twenties. Some perhaps in their thirties. But none of them are forty and over.

I coyly turn my head to expose the bare back of my neck and close my eyes. I mumble a shy hello, as I have practiced many times before in my room, and they all bow, stuttering their own greetings. I giggle softly, raising my left hand to my mouth, barely brushing my fingers against my lips. I glance over towards one of them, the youngest it looks like, and his face turns red. Almost as red as my robe. His eyes widen, brightening, and he bows again. But this time lower. Perhaps too low because he falls forward and onto the floor. The room erupts with laughter, eliciting a soft smile from me. He looks up, his face burning, and stands immediately. He bows again, this time only halfway, and announces himself.

Takahashi Ichirou.

I turn my eyes towards him as the group is led from the hall and back towards the dining room. He watches me as I slowly lift the hem of my kimono with my fingers, as woman in the West do with their gowns, and step from the waiting area to the hallway leading away from the doors. I let my hem down and begin to walk, my head up high. I hear a mutter from him as he hurries after me. I can hear his shoes on the ground, which annoys me. He should have removed them at the front door.

As the hall comes to a turn, I stop. Placing my right hand on the edge of the walls, I turn my head to look at him. He stops, watching me yet again. I turn my eyes down, trying to act shy.

"Takahashisan .... "

"I-Ichirou," he begins in his soft voice, "Please, call me Ichirou."

" .... Ichirou," I giggle, making him blush, " ... please ... remove your shoes."

He looks down to see that he still has his Western-style shoes on. He blushes even more and begins to stand on one foot, removing the shoe with both hands. "I-I apologize, Akiyamasama -- " he begins, tossing the shoe to the ground and hopping to the second foot.

"Please," I begin as softly as he had. He stops and stares at me, his eyes wide. "Call me Etsuko .. "

He swallows and nods, "Y-Yes. Etsuko ... ! I apologize, Etsukosan."

I giggle again, turning around. I walk to the right and down the hall, following the spot of light leaking from the edges of the door and the chattering drifting from the room. I hear Ichirou hopping around and trying to remove his shoe, muttering angrily.

"W-Wait!" I hear him call out. As the second solid thud of the shoe against the wooden floor echoes, he turns to the corner. But it is too late. All he sees is my kimono's tail disappearing into the room and the door sliding closed.

.....

I sit at the end of the table, talking to the group and holding up a black cup of tea. Though I feel I can drink sake, Mother will not let me. If I am to be married soon, should I not be able to drink as well? Everyone else in the room is drunk by now, giddy with laughter and screaming for more food. I want to fit in and be like them. I want to taste sake. And I will not do it by kissing these men. Can they not stay sober for a mere thirty minutes? They have disrupted all of the activities and are now standing, walking around. Some take the fans hanging on the walls and are now pretending to be women in the plays. I laugh softly, raising to the cup's rim to my lips. Before I can drink it, someone's fingers slip over the top and pull it down.

I look to see that it is one of the drunken men, his eyes glazed over with the affections of beer and rice. He leans forward towards me, murmuring softly. I can only understand half of what he is saying.

"Etsuko ... you smell like lavender .... .... and almond oils .... do men like sake ..... ? Do you?"

I smile softly, leaning forward as well. He looks at me in his state and wonders what I am to do. I gently push him back with my fingertips against his shoulder. He sits on his cushion and stares at me.

"Aoimotosan," I begin sweetly, gaining his attention, "I am not for you ... perhaps my sister can assist you with your ... " I stop when I realize he is no longer paying attention. He turns his head back towards the length of guests before shouting something unintelligible. Everyone laughs and he raises his empty cup. The men follow suit, holding their glasses and repeating whatever it was he had said. Since it was not in perfect unison, it was confusing and loud. As they laugh, they try to drink their beer only to find that it is difficult. Two begin to cough as the liquid has entered a wrong way, and one of them has passed out.

I find these men disgusting. I do not want them here at all. I turn my head towards the door and hope it opens to reveal the handsome man back at the large brick building. But it does not. It has betrayed me and left me here to fend for myself, as my Mother is nowhere to be found. I must remind myself to curse that door.

I glance back to see one of the men, who appears to be sober, raise his glass up half-way. His eyes are on me and I feel my heart stop momentarily. How did I not notice him before? When the men were all calm and smart, how did I not see his intelligence? The man nods and speaks what every other man has said. Before it did not make sense to me, but now it does. When he spoke it, I could understand it as if it were written out on parchment in front of me.

Rising his glass to his lips, the Chairman repeats the words and then finishes his drink.

"To Etsuko."

....

A/N: I hope you like it! I mean ... I hope that it was a wonderful story that you will continue to read. And please read and review -- you'll be the first ones to review anything of mine! Please?


	4. Etsuko and Fujimoto

Disclaimer: I do not own Memoirs of a Geisha, its concept, its ideas, its logos, nor its characters. Yadda yadda yadda ... They all belong to Arthur Golden ... blahh ... Also, please excuse the yen. I can't calculate it to 1930s, so please .. forgive me. I just ... went with it?

3/11/10 - 1/13/10

Sorry it took so long to write ... and that it's so long .. to .. read? Anyways, I hope you like it ~! We finally get to the point of the story!! I'm not used to writing action things, so please forgive me if it's confusing, or if it just sucks.

....

I push myself forward through the hallways, my face is covered in soot, my hair smells of smoke. I can see the black clouds billow out from the rooms, choking me. What has happened? What is going on? I call out for someone, anyone. But no one answers. I am frightened. I run from room to room, sliding open the warm doors to be engulfed with fumes. I can not find my way out of our large house. Sweat runs down my face, smearing my make-up and stinging the burn I have received on my cheek. I can not see anything.

I run to one door that is particularly hot and throw it open. I do not think of the consequences as I have had none before. In an instant, flames leap out and towards me. I shriek and jump back, watching the yellow and orange fire crawling up the walls towards the ceiling. Smoke continues to fill the air and my lungs. What started this? I do not know. I had been asleep in my room then awoke to find no one. As I got up and began to comb my hair, as I was too impatient to wait for our maids, I called out for them. When they hadn't answered, I grew angry and got up. No one was home .. and the floor had been warm.

Not heating, no. Fire.

I run down the halls towards where I assume the front door is. I am desperate to get help to save my items. Thousands of yen would have gone to waste. I find myself back at my room, running to the second door and sliding it open. As I run down the honey-combed walls, I begin to take out lacquered boxes and stack them at the door. Ten, fifteen ... too many to count. I can not bare to see them all destroyed.

I gather everything I can carry and run to my door, down the halls until I find myself somewhere familiar. The clearest hall is still grey and foggy. I run down the hall, coughing, and towards the light shining in through the door. As I come to it, I struggle to balance the boxes and open the door. I am happy, for I know what lies on the other side. As I step out into the light, which is bright and blue .. I see that I am not outside. I am in another room. All of the light had filtered in through the ceiling and walls, as they had been designed as windows. Holes cut through all of them neatly, squares. However, there are no doors in this room. It does not lead out to any place, only inside. I drop the items and run down the path to the walls. I begin to pry at the holes, trying to get them to open.

It was much like a sun room. I pound at the walls and scream. "Help me!"

But there is no one outside to hear. I run to the other walls and begin to kick and push. I pull at the wood and even shove my body against the walls. There is no way out. I turn and run back to the door that smoke is leaking out of and grab the boxes. I need to find someplace. Water. I needed water. I drag the four boxes down the hallway through the smoke and pray that they are not damaged by it. I turn and, leaving the boxes, run to the wall. I kick at it and scream. There is no door.

It soon becomes a confusing mazes and I am lost in the turbulence of smoke and fire. I collapse against the wall, on my legs and sob. I can not see anything and can not find my way back to the Sun Room. All I want is for Mother or Father to come and get me. I sit there, my kimono heating up as the smoke circles me, and wait. I wait for what seems like hours. Finally the heat and smoke get to me, as I begin to choke, and I close my eyes. As tears trickle down my face and heat burns my throat and nose, I feel tired. Drowsy.

I slump forward and fall to the ground, the side of my face against the hot wood. I want to wake up and have this be a dream. And if it is, I will forget my angry ways and will apologize. I will be grateful and not scream, I will not hate. I will love. Love Mother and Father and Hanako. And perhaps even love Nobu. Or at least learn to like him, and that could grow, that feeling.

But as I lie there, air becoming difficult to breath and my lungs burning, I know that this, in fact, is not a dream.

....

It is hard to wake up from a dream that is so vivid, and soon you begin to believe that it is reality and that the dream is your life. But not for me. I want my life to be my life and the dream to be whatever was horrible.

But as I wake, my eyes adjusting to the sudden light, I know that it is not possible. The glare from the sun hurts my eyes as I look around. It is hard to breath. I slowly sit up and look around again. I am on a bed, but not my own. I am still in my kimono, stained and smelling from the smoke. I swung my legs over to the edge of the bed, which I notice at no longer pale and fine, but cut, scarred and burnt. I am a bit repulsed by this, but I ignore it as pain courses through me. I want it to stop, but I must find out where I am.

I slowly get to my feet, limping forward, dragging my feet along the ground. The wood is cold and smooth. I come to the door and slide it open, staring out into the dark hall. It is hard to see anything, but it is better than the smoke. I limp forward slowly, feeling pain run up my legs. As I reach out, I see my arms as also cut up and burnt. My skin is red and blistered, the top layer peeling back like an onion. I gag, leaning over, and nearly vomit.

My stomach churns and reels, giving me a headache. I stumble forward through agony and make my way out of the bright room, down the halls and into another room without doors. I stop suddenly as I hear voices murmuring. I lean against the wall and listen closely. I recognize the voices to be that of our neighbors, Kaori and Masaru Fujimoto. I am not quite sure if they are rich or not, as they do not purchase nice things. I listen quietly, my breathing low and raspy.

"We can not negotiate a price if you do not offer, now please -- !"

"¥720," someone begins, his voice low.

"That is too little, for such a selfish girl. ¥890."

"I will not pay so much."

"So much? That is fairly cheap. Do you not wish to have this girl?"

"If you will not settle on a price, then I should leave."

"We will agree -- sit down, please."

I hear them murmuring as I stand in silence. What do they mean by "do you not wish to have this girl"? As I stand, my legs and arms burning, my throat parched and scarred, I feel my heart sink. What are they planning? What are they doing? As I hear them finally agree to a price, I can hear them stand. I know they are bowing and are ready to leave. As they begin to walk towards the hall, I collapse, letting out a soft cry.

The two appear next to me and turn their heads. They do not seem surprised to see me. Instead they turn and walk down the hall, leaving me there. Another person appears, his face dirty and dark. Sweat has streaked his face, and his kimono top and knee-length trousers are dark blue, stained and ripped. His dark eyes focus on me before turning towards the hall.

Before I can say anything, as my throat is too sore to do so, he leans down and wraps one arm under my shoulder. I begin to protest but am quieted by him jerking me to my feet and rushing me down the hall. He does not even stop when the Fujimotos mutter something and turn their eyes to him. I am shoved out of the front door, my legs weak and my feet dragging along the ground. I can not walk, so he walks for me. Pushing me forward and out the door. Where are we going? What are we doing?

As we hurry down the path, my feet hitting every rock and crack that there is, he pushes open the gate and shoves me through. I stumble forward and nearly fall on my face, only to be stopped by his firm grip. I see that there is a rickshaw in front of us in the street. I realize then that he is taking me home. Well, not _home_ home. But to my parents and family. He helps me into the rickshaw and I rest my head against the back of the awning. It is too much work to sit up like a proper woman, so I slump down like I am half-dead.

He takes his place in front and begins the slow trot, the cart jerking forward. I feel sick as the wheels spin and we move. I assume that I will feel better once he is at a comfortable pace, but soon he is running. Through the streets, past houses and around bends. Twice we nearly tip over. I am even sicker now. As I sit in the rickshaw and watch the world go by through slanted eyes, I feel my heartbeat slow and my breathing lower. It feels like a dream as everything rushes behind us in colored streaks.

I inhale the sweet scent of watermelon and plums. Had someone sitting here before eaten something? The rickshaw's wheels run over a bump, making me flip up. My stomach churns and my head spins. Perhaps once I am home I can sleep. All day, all night. Hours and hours, I would sleep. Perhaps I could eat. Eat until my stomach was full to bursting and my kimonos no longer fit ... At this thought, I sit up. My kimonos. Had I gotten the black lacquered boxes? Surely someone had. Our neighbors. They knew what the cost of them had been and would send them with me.

Now more anxious than before, I sit back and stare forward. The young boy's muscles tense as he runs through the streets carrying me. Surely I do not weigh so much as for him to strain like that. But if it were my boxes that caused the weight ... I would tip him well.

He turns down a street and slows to a trot, his feet padding along the ground. Everything slows down and I take in the scenery. The buildings have subsided and given way to a long stretch of green, a yellow path down the center of it. The boy stops slowly, holding me and the rickshaw up. I sit in silence, wondering what we are waiting for. Had my parents gone all the way here? To no where? What for?

I lean forward, my arms and stomach feeling like they are on fire. I look around at the bright blue sky and rolling pastures to find any sign of life. Nothing. Perhaps it was a mistake and I am to be sent back towards the city, to my home. But then I hear the soft creaking of wheels. Another boy appears with a rickshaw, almost as dirty and sweaty as the one pulling me. He pulls up and stops, conversing in a low voice with the latter. Suddenly I am instructed to get out, and I do so, limping against the side of the cart.

The first that carried me turns and walks back, carrying his vehicle with him, towards the city. I am standing there alone, exposed and cold. I turn my head as the second grunts and points to his cart. In an impatient and rugged voice, he instructs me:

"Get in."


	5. Rickshaw Driver and Etsuko

3/16/10

Disclaimer: I do not own Memoirs of a Geisha, its concept, its ideas, its characters nor its logos. They belong to Arthur Golden. I just express my jealous self through Etsukosama, and wonder if my relatives could have been related to a real-life Sayuri.

......

It is not every day when you wake up to see that you are no longer in your house. But that is my problem. As I wake, my eyes only opening a slit to see out into the day, I know that I am not home. I expect to see my family waiting for me. But as I open my eyes wider and look out, I know that they are not here. In all of my thirteen years alive (Yes, I am only thirteen) I have never seen such a place. With a long stretch of dirt road, rolling green hills on either side of me. Us. The rickshaw driver is still pulling me along in his cart. I sit up, my arms and legs burning still. I let out a soft cry and pull my right arm to my chest. Where are we?

I turn my eyes out to the fields and concentrate on the horizon. I see nothing. I am frustrated. How could this be? I open my mouth, irritated, "You have taken me in the wrong direction! Turn around now!"

The boy grunts and quickly shifts the poles he carries so I lunge forward, nearly tumbling out of the cart. As I sit up, I narrow my eyes. "Turn around!"

"You do not know your destination, but I do. I was told to go here." He glances back at me and grunts again. "I was paid to take you."

"Take me? Take me where? Where?!"

I can tell he is getting annoyed. But as a driver, he can not say anything disrespectful. He could lose his job. He grips onto the poles tightly, his olive colored knuckles turning white. "Gion," he says, "In Kyoto."

I am astonished. Kyoto? No! This was a mistake! As I leaned forward to say something, he flexes his shoulder muscles and stops to a slow trot before resting completely. Holding onto the cart he looks back at me. "You want to get out? Then get out. But I am still going to Kyoto -- and we are miles from Tokyo. You will be on your own out here for days. Do you wish that?"

I am taken aback by this man's straightforwardness. In a huff, I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. I have heard Western women do this when they are upset. Folding ones arms over each other seems to be a trait to say you are angry or displeased -- and I intend to use it, even if he does not know what it means. With another grunt, the man turns and begins to walk again. I sit in silence, staring forward. As I rock to the motion of the cart, I am lulled to a dreamy state. Soon I fall asleep, feeling my head grown heavy and brush against my chest.

It seems like only seconds that I am asleep before I hear the clacking of shoes on the street. My head snaps up and I look around. It is nighttime and we are entering a town. I am silent as the man passes swiftly through the lightened streets, his bare feet padding along the wet cobblestones. As rain dribbles down in silence, it glistens the paper lanterns hanging outside and the varnished gates. Almost every building is awake and alive, lights burning brightly inside and out. I lean forward and look around to see that there are quite a few people. Other rickshaws with women in face-paint and lavish gowns passing me, their eyes forward. They do not seem to see me, which annoys me. Why ignore me?

I sit back as the rickshaw slows and three women with elaborate hairstyles cross in front of us, two small girls carrying parasols. The girls almost remind me of Kazu, Michi and Koru as their small statures are lost behind the folds of the women's kimonos. As they turn, the women I mean, I see that there is a strip of red cloth showing through their black hair. I look away. How vulgar. Who are these women, dressing like .. like women of the night? Perhaps that is what they are. I have never seen one up close before, and I am almost scared. That would mean that men, desperate and lonely men, would be crawling around these streets. Especially during the night. Where was I supposed to go to? One of these Asian brothel-houses?

The driver pulls me forward and we slowly approach a lovely building which I assume to be a restaurant of some kind. But as he stops and helps me out of the rickshaw, I see that there is a sign on the door, written in black lacquered kanji. "Nitta". The Nitta household? I have never seen such a place ... And as we slowly approach the wooden doors, I am afraid. Would I be sold to one of these places to be in charge of pleasing men? We slowly walk up, the man pushing me forcefully, and soon we come to the doors. I am trying to be graceful and beautiful, as I do not want to go here and perhaps they will realize I am too pretty to go here, but my foot catches on a curb and I fall forward. I land on my burnt and bruise knees, letting out a cry of pain. As rain patters down on me, I realize that I am not graceful. I am here because I am clumsy ...

I feel tears well up my eyes, but I shake them away. I sit up and look towards the doors. I am ready to step up when they slide open and out steps a woman. Her pale face is perfectly oval, her lips painted a deep red. As her charcoal eyes turn down towards me, I feel like I am no match. I have never felt this way before. Her long, flowing red kimono is tied off with a gold sash and white under robe. I am silent as she stares. A young girl is standing next to her, holding an umbrella. Her wet hair is tied in a loose braid, her face dirty and streaked. I see her kimono is a dark navy, and she has cheap, woven zori on. She is just like Kazu.

I believe she is for a moment. As I open my mouth to speak her name, the woman begins to walk off and the girl follows, quickly jumping up to hold the umbrella over her head. I sit there on the wet sidewalk, my gown ruined, my hair soggy. I stare in silence at the two as they whisk off into the rainy night, the gold and red fabric shining in the light spewing forth from lanterns. The jealousness that I have not felt, soon bubbles away. I am in awe of the woman. The way she gracefully moves across the ground, as if gliding. The way she holds herself and looks down without moving her head. She is what I realize I must become, if I am to be beautiful. More beautiful, that is.

I must be like her. That woman. That lady of the night. Though more discreet and modest.

I continue to stare down the street as the rickshaw driver grabs me by my elbow and pulls me up, sliding open the door and pushes me forward. I stumble over my own feet and fall again, this time landing on the sides of my legs, my hands stretched out. I hear an irritated sigh and I look up. A woman stands there, her cold eyes turned down towards me. She turns and walks back into the house, shutting the door. I am in the middle of the eaved space between the street and the house. I quickly get to my feet and bow. Even if I am to be sold here, I must be respectful. If that woman's make-up is here, than I shall find it for my own use.

I stand there, bowing, until I realize that the woman has gone. I stand up and stare at the closed door. I am desperate. I open my mouth to speak when it slides open and out steps a woman. A different woman than last time. She is not as old, but is bent over. She stares at me, reaching forward with one long hand and grabs my face. I try to pull back, but she pulls me forward and squeezes my cheeks. Turning me around, she grabs my shoulders and prods my back and spine with her long fingers. I let out a cry as she pinches my upper arm.

"What is wrong with her?"

"Fire. She was caught in it. Got burns all up and down her arms and legs."

She scoffs a little bit, "Well, I suppose this is good ... How much?"

"I paid eight hundred and fifty."

"Why?"

"Look at her face. She is naturally pretty -- if she is covered by make-up, then you have a wonderful person. She will bring in more customers. Pay off your debt."

The woman turns me around again and stares into my eyes. I am confused about what they are talking about. I know I was sold to the rickshaw driver, but I do not know why.

"She is ... ?"

"They had a doctor check. Yes."

"Hmm .. " The woman sighs and grabs the fold of my kimono collar and pulls me forward, stepping back into the house. "You wait here." As I am pushed inside, she steps out and walks to the driver, paying him for the price of me. As she returns to the house and slides the door closed, she stares at me. Walking past, she pulls me along with her. We walk down the hallway and towards where I assume to be the reception room. But instead of going in the room, we turn right and walk down the hall. There are stairs leading to the second hall. To the left and behind is a hall and more rooms.

She pushes me towards the back of the household, and out towards a room. The large doors are open, letting in the cold breeze. There is a small bucket and a stool, towels and a brush. She sits me down on the stool and hands me a brush, pointing to the bucket. "Clean up."

I dip the brush into the water and begin to scrub my feet, moving up my ankle and shin. The rough bristles are hard against my blistered skin, making me whimper in pain. Soon I remove my kimono and wash the rest of my body, shuddering as the wind blows against me. It is too late to bathe with cold water during rain. The woman then throws a kimono at me, that much similar to the Kazu look-alike's.

"Dress. It is not skin we are selling here -- " as I pull the gown on and tie it with a thin, black sash, she hands me woven zori. "So do not walk around with shoes."

I slip on the shoes despite the fact that my feet are still wet. She then points back into the house. "Inside." I step inside and she follows, sliding the door closed behind us. As I come to the stairs I glance up towards the large wooden doors.

"Who lives up there?"

She shoves me along, "Hatsumomo."

"Hatsumomo?"

"Yes. You know that woman you saw earlier?" She directs me towards a room.

"Yes." I think of the lady with a painted face.

"She is Hatsumomo."

"What is she?" I figure it might be rude to ask about this, if she was, in fact, one of the women. But she does not seem bothered.

"You," she begins, sliding open a door and pushes me inside, "sleep here." I turn and look at her as she sighs.

"Hatsumomo," her words trail in, even after she slides the door closed, "Is a Geisha."


End file.
